Gingerson
by JTtheWarden
Summary: A oneshot about two of my favourite pirates. Only the preview chapter is up at the moment, but should be done soon.


Hi! This is a preview chapter for my oneshot in progress, Gingerson. This IS PoTC related, remember it's a wip. Feedback would be nice. I'm not tellin who the boy is, you'll find that out when it's all done. For now, enjoy this little preview of an upcoming oneshot PoTC story, Gingerson!

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GINGERSON

"Ginga, 'oo 'ave a custama!" A surly-looking, heavyset woman with flyaway black hair stomped around an old tavern-like institute, her overdone makeup giving her face a dangerous quality. Every step she took, her body jiggled, and this fact was made unattractively clear by the low-cut dress she wore. Men and women hastened out of her path, but she took no notice of them. She paused at the foot of a steep staircase, took a deep breath, and bellowed up the stairs. "GINGA!!! GET YER CA'CASS DOWN 'ERE!! 'OO 'AVE A CUSTAMA 'OO SHULD 'AVE DONE WIF THA' OTHA' ONE AN HOUR AGO!! 'URRY UP OR YOO'LL BE LOOK'N FOR A NEW JOB!!"

Footsteps on the stairs. A muffled whimper from a child. The sound of a slap, and the slam of a door, and more footsteps announced the arrival of a young woman, slim and attractive. The dark-haired woman sneered haughtily at the young woman as the latter straightened her long, curly, reddish-blond hair. The first woman beckoned imperiously and pointed in the direction of a large group of men standing near what was the entrance. The younger woman gave her hair a final toss, her dress a slight adjustment, and sashayed over to the men. The raven-haired woman sent a look of disgust up the stairs, then returned to her desk to take orders. The object of her rejection was curled up by a stair post, his face slightly red on the right cheek. He was a young boy of about eight, with bright, oceanic blue eyes, filthy clothing, and hair the same shade as Ginger. He whimpered as a man stomped down the stairs, buckling his belt. The man paused by the child, scowled at him, and kicked his ribs savagely. The boy cried out, tears falling from his sea-blue eyes. The man stomped off, gave some coins to the corpulent woman at the desk, then went on his way. The boy wiped his eyes with a grubby hand and grasped the post tightly, hugging it to him with all his might. Moments later, Ginger came waltzing up the stairs with a man who the boy had seen many times before. The man was fat, going bald, and every time he came here, he asked for his mother. Ginger. The child sighed sadly as his mother completely ignored him. The man, however, sneered unpleasantly at the boy and made a rude gesture with his hand. They vanished into a room, shutting the door firmly behind them. He heard the distinctive click of a lock sliding into place and he whimpered.

"Mommy?" he whispered. A single step ate the base of the stairs creaked and the boy twitched. A man stood there, a frightening smirk on his smudged face. The boy cowered and tried to scoot backwards, but being on a staircase, he went nowhere. The man slowly ascended the stairs, crooking his finger at the boy. "Mommeee…" he cried softly. He didn't want to disturb his mother, but this man wasn't a very nice man. He knew this man, had known this man since two years ago. He knew this man better than he knew his mother. He opened his mouth to call again, but by this time, the man was on him and had clamped a rum-soaked hand over his mouth.

"Now, now, lad. I 'aven't been 'ere in over three months. 'Aven't ye missed me?" the boy shook his head and tried to break the man's grip on him. "Oh, now. I've missed ye a lot. In fact, let me show ye 'ow much," he said, scooping up the boy with an iron grip and forcing him into an empty room. The last thing the terrified boy's ocean eyes saw was a woman passing by the half-closed door. She glanced at him, then walked on. The man slammed the door with a low, hoarse laugh.

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"Ginga'," a voice called, knocking on the door of Ginger's room. "Ginga'! I foun' yer son!" Ginger rose up out of her bed, her hair disheveled. She stumbled over to the door, opened it with a loud creeeeak, and gasped.  
"What happened?" Ginger asked the black-haired woman. "Where was he?" The corpulent woman shrugged, handing the boy over to his mother. He had several cuts on the side of his arm, blood all over his clothes, and his lip was swollen. His right eye sported a huge bruise, and it was forced shut by the wound.

"Foun' 'im in that extrie room we 'ave. 'E kep' goin' on about some man, so I 'ad to smack him a bit. If ye can' keep yer brat unner control, either 'oo or 'im will 'ave ta go. I mean it, Ginga'. We ain't runnin' a nursery," she said, harshly. "I wan' one or both of ye gone by tomorra. No excuses."

"LaChelle! Please! What am I to do with him?" Ginger begged. La Chelle turned to her, frowning.

"'Ow should I know? 'E's not MY mistake." With that, the dark-haired woman boomed away, slamming the door behind her. Ginger looked down at her son and sighed.

"What am I to do with you? Why do you have to keep getting in the way all the time? Why can't you just…" she fell silent. "We're going to visit your uncle tomorrow. First light." She shoved the boy into a pile of moldy blankets and sheets. "Get some sleep."

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Confused yet? Thanks for reading, and I hope to have it finished soon. 


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